The first time, it didn't work out to his advantage, Robin smirked, and decided that he liked a challenge. The conversation kept on going, and going, and going, and he thought, Eventually, he'll give in, he's to delicious not to, and after all, I'm me. He has to accept me.

After three weeks of arguing with Ares, he had to accept the hard fact that he was, indeed, not interested in male lovers. Robin, then Pan, had to run out of the way – it was no more talking and the war god was tired. Thankfully, Dionysos was there.

The second time things didn't pan out as planned; he was the one arguing not to sleep with the intended lover. She had looked lovely from the other side of the river. She had a good face, nice teats, and a slim, gracious waist.

That she had to be a harpy must have been a cruel twist of the Fates.

The third time, he was in a tavern. King's Arms, to be more precise, though every second tavern in Britain is called that. He certainly would have wanted to get into the King's arms, though his favorite bastard was more to his liking. The kid was beautiful, and Robin had been hanging out, drinking with him and shielding his pranks, waiting patiently for him to be old enough.

Then Henry Fitzroy had to disappear, and Robin considered that third time was not the charm.

The fourth time, her name was Yael. She had beautiful amber eyes and lips that pouted when she was about to kiss you. He'd fallen for her head over heels, and he'd been courting her for a while, working hard to win her interest. The night she said yes, he promised to come pick her up for dinner and a stroll by the Danube. They were going to do this properly, he'd promised.

When he arrived, the SS had already taken her away to the death camps. He left the next morning for London and joined the RAF. The war had become personal.

The fifth time felt like it lasted forever. He looked longingly at Nik, when he thought no-one was looking. Sometimes, he tried. Sometimes, he just imagined it. Always, he felt sad.